Rebel Encounter
by MoKat
Summary: A companion to the comic The Rebel Opposition - from Winter’s POV. – Tycho Celchu and Winter ship story. Expanded Universe, X-Wing Rogue Squadron, Wedge Antilles, Wes Janson
1. Prologue

_This is a companion to the __X-Wing Rogue Squadron__ series of comics entitled __The Rebel Opposition__ written by Michael Stackpole and published by Dark Horse Comics between 1995 and 1996. It focuses on Winter, filling in some missing scenes in the storyline with special emphasis on the initial development of the relationship between Winter and Tycho Celchu. It is best read with the comics by your side so you get the whole context. If you don't have them – get thee to the nearest independent comic store! They even have them in Omnibus form now._

_WARNING: Rated M for Romance novel type of activity. I've always thought Star Wars was the ultimate romance story._

_---_

_A special note to the diehard canon-ites out there:_

_Everybody assumes Tycho and Winter's first kiss occurred as shown at the end of __Battleground: Tatooine__. But canon does not say it's their __**first**__ kiss. I asked myself why is Winter so affectionate and sweet to Tycho in __Rebel Opposition__ but so cold and abrasive in __Battleground: Tatooine__? Obviously, something happened. _

_It seems to me that Winter's behavior towards Tycho all through __Battleground: Tatooine__ is quite in keeping with the defensive angst that often occurs when two people with a passionate encounter in their past meet again – an encounter that left a lasting impression on a tough, young operative who prided herself on her detached efficiency and was desperately trying not to fall in love - an encounter that might have gone something like this._

_(__**Bold**__ indicates a quote from the __X-Wing Rogue Squadron: The Rebel Opposition__ series of comics by Michael A. Stackpole, published by Dark Horse Comics, except for the quote of Bria Tharen, which comes from Rebel Dawn by A. C. Crispin.)_

--ooOoo--

PROLOGUE

Gates Harnik tossed the latest delivery of mundis onto the hover sled, his tunic clinging to his thick, sweat-drenched torso. The humidity this season was what Rascol would have called "insufferable" if she had been here to experience it with him. He paused to wipe his brow with a well-used cloth from his back pocket and took the opportunity to survey the street. It looked the same as it always did on a mid-week afternoon. Tamarack was a sleepy town for the most part. Nothing much exciting happened here. A prominent businessman, his store occupied the prized corner of the primary intersection in town.

It was quiet as usual now. Most citizens were working their fields or off to the capital Kiidan. He didn't know what he expected to see but he was always on edge since Rascol had… disappeared. He couldn't bring himself to say she had died, even though in his heart he knew it was true.

His guests didn't make him any more comfortable either but he was glad they were there.

Gates tapped his id code in the datapad the drayman held out for him to acknowledge receipt of the mundis and wondered whether he was working for Tascl. Probably not since he was Trandoshan. A Moff wouldn't sully himself with a non-human. Still, one couldn't be too careful. Gates nodded his thanks briskly and turned to maneuver the hover sled into his warehouse. Business as usual must continue. Tascl mustn't be alerted to his coming demise.

The grocer's warehouse crew quickly distributed the mundis into the waiting durobins, oblivious to the planning taking place in the back office. Gates plodded toward the gathering, picking up some fruit on the way and inspecting the quality of the crop. He selected several good specimens and took them to the local Opposition leaders and their Rebel guests assembled in the back office of the Tamarack Foodstuffs Emporium.

"We can guarantee prominent positions in the new government for all Opposition leaders," the Rebel negotiator was saying. "The transition can be smooth and seamless if we accept the reparations offered and begin building our future together." Tal Aranis was standing in the middle of the good sized office, surrounded by a dozen commanders from the biggest resistance cells on Cilpar. It was a top secret meeting several months in the making. "I'm not saying we just forgive and forget," Aranis continued in a diplomatic tone. "I'm just saying we need to think more about the future of Cilpar than the past."

"What about justice?" asked one particularly grizzled looking man. "Some of us have seen our families murdered, our property confiscated. The Imps have to pay for what they've done."

"And they certainly will," assured Aranis. "A special tribunal will be set up with Alliance judges to determine the culpability and penalties for those accused of war crimes." Aranis gestured to the slim, silver haired woman at the back of the room. "My assistant knows all too well the horror of Imperial war crimes. She is from Alderaan. She would personally flay me alive if I were to dismiss Imperial crimes lightly." Aranis gave her a tight smile. "But even she agrees that we cannot fight forever. We must find a way to move forward. The Emporer is dead. Governor Norquest is willing to defer to Alliance authority. He has not personally participated in any atrocities. Moff Baron Tascl will bear the full brunt of Alliance justice, rest assured. But Cilpar can be free! Is that not worth the effort to find a way to coexist with Norquest?"

"How can we trust him? How can we trust you?" spat out a woman whose face quivered with barely suppressed anger. "My husband always said to trust no one." Her fiery green eyes seemed to melt with her emotion. "He fought and died for a free Cilpar. I fully support that dream. But how can we trust them?" The wide motion of her hands took in Aranis, his assistant and all of the world outside the suddenly microscopic back office.

"I trust them." Gates spoke for the first time in a soft tone, full of conviction. "I trust the Rebel Alliance, anyways. They have freed many worlds and always traded fairly with them. They do not simply seek to replace the Empire. They truly believe in freedom." He looked at the woman with the fiery green eyes. "Rascol trusted them, too."

"And look what that got her! Gone, probably dead!" Gates flinched at her words, knowing they were probably true. "I should never have let her infiltrate the Moff's palace," the woman continued, shooting an accusatory glare at Aranis.

Aranis bowed his head in a gesture of respect. "Your sister was a very brave woman. She gave us invaluable information that has made this deal possible. Would she want us to lose this chance she gave us?" His head raised now as he confronted the green eyed woman with her choices. "Would your husband?"

Silence reigned as Aranis let the full weight of his words settle on the assembled Opposition leaders. He would need their support to convert Cilpar to a member of the Rebel Alliance. Out of the corner of his eyes he caught his assistant gesturing to him urgently as she pointed to her earpiece.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let's take a break to consider what we have heard here." The gathered leaders murmured their assent and filed out of the office to visit with their delegations. Aranis turned to his assistant, who whispered urgently in his ear. She gestured vaguely in a westerly direction and looked around at the huddling Opposition leaders. Her body language was tightly controlled but her face gave away her anxious concern to the alert observer. She laid her hand on Aranis' shoulder and moved to guide him toward the exit. He shook his head and halted her with his hand. Turning back, he addressed the divergent groups in a loud voice.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am risking my life in telling you this, but you deserve to know. You have been betrayed. I suggest - - "

The distinctive sound of a blaster echoed in the warehouse and Aranis' body crumpled to the cold floor. Smoke rose from a charred hole in his torso as everyone was frozen in shock.

Everyone except his assistant. Instantly she pulled a holdout blaster from her tunic and dove behind a canister of thrashed puerco.

The warehouse erupted in laserfire as the opposition delegations dove for the exits, blasting anything in their way. Shouts of dismay echoed, led loudly by a female voice screaming "Traitors! Curse them all!"

Fruit exploded when caught by a stray beam and liquids spewed from pierced canisters. Someone rolled open the oversized warehouse loading dock doors, the bright light of the Cilpar sun illuminating the far corners. There was no sign of the assassin.

"Imps!" came the forceful shout as the sound of strafing TIE fighters approached them. The storefront exploded as the enemy ships systematically targeted the prominent buildings of the town. The heavy steps of the multi-tonned AT-STs led the Stormtroopers through the streets.

Shouted orders from the faction leaders to their small security details began a desperate effort to escape the Stormtrooper sweep. One speeder darted away, piloted by the red haired woman. It veered and juked to avoid fire, driven with skill worthy of a veteran podracer. Random fire from the standard issue E-11 Blaster rifles took down other resistance fighters before they could reach their vehicles. Blaster cannon fire from the AT-ST brought down two speeder bikes making a run for the edge of town. Up and down the main street of Tamarack the fire fight raged.

Gates huddled behind a large water tank in the alley across from his store. Beside him was the silver-haired Rebel liaison and diplomatic assistant code-named Targeter. She studied the scene before them with an intent expression, her eyes darting back and forth as she took in every troop movement, every hand signal, every weapon. Finally she nodded to herself and spoke in a low voice. "They're deploying in a standard pincer movement, trying to drive everyone to the center of town." She turned to rise and motioned to Gates to follow. "This way."

He followed her through another alley and then cut across a gated courtyard of an empty tapcaf. Rounding the corner of the building, Targeter stopped short and raised her hand in a fist, motioning for Gates to freeze. A moment later she crouched low, mimicking the motion with her hand held flat. Gates pressed up close behind her and then crouched down, pressing his shoulder against hers.

She turned a somber eye toward him. "We're too late." The sound of marching Stormtroopers reverberated down the street. "We'll have to get clever." Turning back to watch the deployment of Imperial forces, an expression of deep concentration was etched on her elegant features. Gates saw a depth of determination in her eyes he had not seen since Rascol announced she was going to do her part for the Opposition. He noticed then that her eyes were the same shade of green that Rascol's had been, though her crystal white hair created a striking contrast, giving her a distinctly ethereal quality.

"Come on," he whispered to Targeter as he grabbed her arm and pulled her along. He moved back toward the gated courtyard of the empty tapcaf, stopping to open the door on the side of the building. It wasn't locked. Tamarack was a safe town.

"Marjoi?" He called as loudly as he dared. Entering the kitchen area he headed to the other side of the room. "Marjoi?" He called up the stairs. "It's Gates. Are you here?" He bounded up the steps two at a time and was gone for a few moments before returning. "It's all clear. Looks like she went to Kiidan today, thank the Force." He grabbed a knapsack and started stuffing as much pre-packaged foodstuffs as he could into it. He wrapped a heavy-duty meat knife and tenderizing mallet in fabriplast and placed them in a side pocket. "Not much for weapons but they will have to do," he muttered.

"I like this better." Gates hadn't even noticed that she was gone but now she stood at the bottom of the steps he had just left, fastening a very well-worn leather holster around her hips.

"That thing's a relic." Gates looked doubtfully at the beat up DL-44 heavy blaster resting in the holster. Its black surface had long since lost any gloss it had when new and sported many scratches and dents that looked like they could interfere with proper functioning.

"It still has a charge." She took it out of the holster now, examining it with a practiced eye, testing the weight in her hands. "It will do the job better than a meat cleaver and tenderizing hammer."

"Point," Gates admitted. An odd look lit up his face suddenly as he stared at the blaster. Unexpectedly he darted up the steps past the woman. He returned almost immediately with what appeared to be a suit draped over his arm. He folded it up tight and shoving it in the pack with a muttered "This might come in handy." He moved to the cupboards and scavenged through them, taking whatever he felt might be useful. Soon the pack was stuffed full of food, tools, first aid supplies and even a couple short-range communicators.

"So," she stood looking at him expectantly. "What's the plan?"

Gates closed the pack deliberately and handed it to her. "Now we walk out of town."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

She didn't have to voice her skepticism as her face said it all for her. Outside the tapcaf the sounds of a battle continued to rage. Blasters whined, people shouted and Stormtrooper armor clanked. She cocked her head and waited for him to explain.

Gates sighed and started moving back out the side door into the alley "Trust me."

They hugged the wall of the building until they reached the end of the alley. The cordon of Stormtroopers had passed their location now, drawing the perimeter around the town ever tighter. Guards had been left behind at regular intervals to watch for stragglers and prevent escape. It wouldn't be easy getting by them.

Suddenly, Gates reached down and grabbed her by the left hand. "Just walk calmly and confidently," he instructed. True to his words, he stepped boldly out into the sunny street in full view of the nearest guard. Still holding her hand, he pulled Targeter with him and began casually walking the guard's direction.

"What are you doing?" Targeter hissed in surprise.

He didn't answer but continued to hold her hand and walk casually right up to the guardsman. Then they were past him and on their way out of town. The guard had acted as if he hadn't seen them at all.

"How did you do that?" Targeter's eyes were wide in shock, her hand gripped tight on the worn blaster. They continued walking and didn't stop until they reached a copse of trees that marked the transition from agri-eco to forested-eco. Gates stopped and turned to answer her questions.

"I learned as a child how to play hide-and-seek better than anyone. So well, that I soon discovered that if I didn't want to be seen, I wasn't. Not even when they were looking directly at me." He shrugged and looked back toward town, a worried expression on his face.

Targeter stared at him for a long moment. "Well, that sure qualifies as clever. I know a Jedi who would be very interested in talking to you."

That got his attention. Slowly he nodded his head. "Send him my way when this is over. I won't be leaving my home but I would be honored to talk to him." He turned and started walking back into town.

"Wait!" Targeter reached out and grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?"

He looked at her and then back into town. "I told you. I won't be leaving my home."

"But they'll kill you!"

He nodded. "Maybe. Or maybe they will put me wherever they put Rascol. Either way, I'll be with her." He turned to Targeter with an intent expression. "You have to get back to your Alliance and let them know Tascl is on the loose again. Somebody betrayed our meeting to him and he took the opportunity to wipe us out. He has no interest in co-existing. He must be defeated. You tell your people they were wrong."

With that, Gates turned and walked purposefully back into his home town.

The white haired woman code name Targeter watched his back recede from her for several long minutes, her face a storm of emotion as she struggled to accept Gates' decision. Finally, a veneer of practiced composure forced the turmoil and anguish away. She turned and started a hike of several hundred kilometers west. In a couple days, the Rebel forces should be at the base she had started to set up for the supply convoy. It would take her a couple weeks to reach them, but when she did, she would be taking care of Moff Boren Tascl one way or another.

--ooOoo--


	2. In the Cave

(Nearly Two Weeks Later)

Voices drifted through the muggy jungle air, mingling with the smell of smoke from a campfire and the gravid stillness marking the coming night. Dusk was rapidly fading and soon the double moons would illuminate the nocturnal struggles of the native Cilpar creatures. The ronks were already starting to hunt.

She knew from experience that she had to find shelter soon as she was no match for the native predators - but that was fine; she had reached her destination for that night. A scant dozen meters ahead of her, the entrance to the cave glowed with the light from the campfire deep inside. Shadows danced as if they were the predators and the flame was the prey. There was no guard and no early warning systems set. _Flyboys! _she thought with a mental eye roll. _They need a little more commando training. _

Announcing herself would probably be a wise course, but she needed some intelligence. Caution had been her main defense the last two weeks. Caution that included a total comm blackout. Somebody had betrayed the resistance and she didn't know who it was. Until she reached the Rebel base, she couldn't afford contact with the locals. She was reasonably certain the cave contained the X-Wing pilots she saw crash earlier that day but she couldn't be sure they were alone. The amount of smoke and the sound of a distant explosion had concerned her at first until she saw the second X-Wing glide in low after the first. A rescue. Exactly what she needed. But if she had seen it, others might have, too.

It had taken several hours to make it to this point. She had hustled as quickly as she could, but even with a dry creek bed as her road, the footing had been treacherous and the journey arduous. Cilpar was an agriworld in the Colonies Region just outside the Galactic Core. It was a planet of vast fields growing everything from Mundis to Puerco, but it also had forty percent of its land mass covered in dense forestation and mountainous elevations. It was through just such an area that she made her way now.

She was relieved that she made it in time but she was also on the verge of exhaustion. Physically and emotionally exhausted, she was honest enough to admit to herself. Losing Aranis had been bad enough, but losing Gates was somehow worse. Aranis had signed up for this dangerous duty. Gates had been a simple shopkeeper just trying to be free to live his life. The incredible triumph she had felt at the news of the Emperor's death one month before had been shattered when she watched Gates die at the hands of a petty tyrant with delusions of grandeur.

But it had also strengthened her resolve, if that was possible. She saw now that defeating the Emperor alone was insufficient. As evil as he had been, the galaxy was full of an endless supply of idiots who wanted his job and were willing to inflict whatever pain and evil was necessary to get it – and enjoy themselves in the process. She shook her head in disgust at the thought, her lip curling as she recalled with perfect clarity the excitement in Moff Tascl's voice as he ordered the Stormtroopers to open fire on the town of Tamarack. Sometimes she wished her recall wasn't quite so perfect.

Her back stiffened as she sought ways to complete her mission despite this setback. Her goal was clear – destroy Tascl and bring Cilpar into the Alliance. Making it to the Rebel base would be the first step. Then she just needed to find a way to bring down Moff Tascl and his lackey, Governor Norquest. A big task to be sure, but she wouldn't give up. She would find a way. She had to. A dangerous smile lit her face as she imagined Tascl hanging like he had hung Gates. Now that was a mental picture she would be happy to recall.

A loose rock under her foot almost made her twist an ankle and forced her attention back to the task at hand. Crouching down beside a thick, leafy bush, she slipped her pack off her back and dropped it to the ground. Pulling her datapad from her pocket, she made sure the security code was set and tucked it in a waterproof pocket. There was nothing of strategic importance on it – all mission details were kept in the datapad she called her brain – but if things went bad, she wasn't about to make anything easy for them.

She shoved the pack deep under the bush, making sure not to break any branches or leave any other signs an observant tracker could spot. Pulling the decrepit blaster from her holster, she crept through the shadows surrounding the dark maw leading from the oppressive forest to the cool dampness of the cave.

"**Hey, Tycho, you were with the Imperial Navy, weren't you?" **one of the pilots was asking.

"**So were most Rebel pilots," **came the answer.

Such quick confirmation that they were neither locals nor Imps! Her eyes strained against the ever changing contrast of dark and light on the jagged cave walls and jutting boulders. When she heard no new voices, she crept farther in, hoping to find a suitable vantage point from which to visually confirm that the Rebel pilots were alone.

"…**I'm hallucinating," **the first pilot was saying in a slurred tone that made the listener believe he probably was. **"I think I see Princess Leia standing behind you with a blaster."**

"**You've got a fever all right…"** the second pilot started.

She didn't wait for him to finish. Feverish or not, she had been spotted and she needed to take control while the situation was still calm.

"**Shut up and turn around." **She emerged from the darkness to find the two pilots on either side of a large fire, a carcass roasting on a spit over top. The first pilot was on the far side with a thermal liner covering the lower half of his body and bandages wrapped around his chest. He must have been the pilot that crashed. The injuries explained his slurred speech and strained tone. The second pilot was nearer, reclining on a large, rounded, low-laying boulder with a large drumstick in his hand. Not expecting company, apparently.

"**Wha--? Highness! What are you doing here?"**

A quick survey told her there was no one else near the fire. She turned her attention to the blond pilot rising in front of her. As usual, people saw only what she wanted them to see. The familiar, comfortable mask of a noble Princess was firmly in place. She knew she looked like her. She had been chosen because of it. She had turned her retinal implants to brown, covering the green of her own eyes. The dye she had risked raiding from the one lonely farm house she had encountered on her long trek here completed the effect. But the imitation, the impersonation - that she had been perfecting since she was a young girl when she had made the protection of Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan her reason for being. This was far from the first time she had been mistaken for her. Usually that was exactly what she wanted.

"**Holding a blaster on you and asking the questions. And if I don't like the answers, I'm going to start shooting."**

She said it more for the benefit of anyone else that might be lurking in the shadows than for the Rebel pilots, but the truth was her weariness made her vulnerable and she didn't like being vulnerable. It made her downright cranky.

The blond pilot's expression turned from startled to confused to suspicious in the space of two heartbeats. **"Tycho Celchu, Lieutenant, Republic Space Force. Serial Number 68970024." **

He stood slowly, taking in her sweat-stained utility uniform, grimy speeder headgear and low slung blaster belt in what she could only call a tactical assessment. Sharp blue eyes glared piercingly at her from a lean, almost gaunt face. His bleached hair and tan skin spoke of recent terrestrial outdoor exposure unexpected in a man who flew starfighters for a living. The orange jumpsuit he wore on his wiry form was devoid of identifying patches, but it was identical to those favored by Rebel pilots.

The other pilot, almost delirious in his fever, sputtered and slurred. **"Come on, Tycho – it's Princess Leia! What's with the P.O.W. act?"**

The man – Tycho - and the woman remained frozen, appraising each other. She could tell he was calculating options, assessing alternatives, searching for a way to outmaneuver her, but she kept her face schooled in her best Princess-Leia-in-charge look, hoping he wouldn't try anything foolish. Just in case, she tightened her grip on her blaster. It was set to stun. If she had to, she would risk his future anger and resentment for present gain. Such were the bargains she made routinely in her missions.

Finally Tycho broke the spell and with a healthy dose of nonchalance and pilot swagger, threw his jacket over his shoulders. **"You know what they can do with plastiforms, Wes," **he shrugged. **"She could be anybody."**

Despite herself, the corner of the woman's mouth twitched ever so slightly. It wasn't often that the Princess Leia act didn't work. Most men were overwhelmed by the thought of _entertaining_ Leia, whether for good or evil. This Tycho Celchu garnered a few points in her book for not immediately succumbing to the deception. Besides, he was right. She _could_ be anybody. She _was _anybody.

She hoped she wasn't slipping, though.

"**That's right. It so happens I'm not Princess Leia Organa."**

She hesitated for a second, unsure of how much to reveal, but decided she had enough data to credibly conclude they were secure. **"Dame Winter, at your service." **

"Dame?" he challenged immediately. He obviously wasn't convinced he could trust her yet. "Did you get lost on the way to the Royal ball?"

Winter frowned in frustration. She hadn't meant anything by mentioning her peerage. She didn't know why she had been so formal. Inclining her head slightly, she acknowledged the taunt. "The House of Alderaan." Her voice turned bitter. "Unfortunately, it is not I who is lost."

"Well, what do you know!" the other pilot – Wes, Tycho had called him - slurred from the other side of the fire. "Hey, Tycho! She's from Alderaan, too!"

The fire crackled in the stillness and shadows danced on the cave wall. The smoke trailed a thin whisp along the ceiling before disappearing into the darkness. Outside, a creature howled into the fully formed night, echoing in the silence that now reigned inside the cave.

Winter and Tycho stared at each other, both plunged briefly into the nightmare image of the hideous destruction of Alderaan. The rippling muscles in his clenched jaws were the only outward signs of Tycho's reaction while Winter's countenance lost the Princess-in-charge mask and a desperate hollowness threatened to overwhelm her as it always did whenever she thought of Alderaan. Their eyes remained locked for several long moments, sharing the poignant grief of their mutual loss.

Oblivious to the tension in the air, Wes cooed and muttered to himself, occasionally wincing in pain when he coughed.

Slowly, the sharpness in Tycho's eyes faded, replaced by a thoughtful air as he considered the woman before him who looked like his Princess but wasn't. "I see," he said slowly, filling those two short words with paragraphs of meaning. "So you truly are lost in the woods."

Winter quirked an eyebrow at his nuanced comment. "A true son of Alderaan, I see. Layers of meaning packaged in a single pointed comment."

"We do love our discourse," he agreed. "Though you'll find I'm not your typical Alderaanian." He waved his hands in front of him, palms up, inviting her to look at his uniform. "I like to fight."

"You like it?" Winter challenged immediately.

"It's necessary." Tycho's face took on a guarded air. "And it's what I'm good at."

Winter understood exactly what he meant. She wished she didn't. "I find that we have all been forced to use talents we didn't know we had, or wish we didn't have."

"I rather like my talents." Tycho countered with a grin, shifting nuance again. "Of course, I could do without the killing, but the contest, the challenge… that's delicious."

Winter regarded this man with a penetrating gaze, trying to decipher his comments. He seemed to be a man in control of his words and actions, as was typical of Alderaanians. She wondered if he could sense her desperate determination and was trying to put her at ease or whether he despaired too and just couldn't bear to face it.

Oddly, she found herself wanting to take the time to find out exactly what made this man tick. The yearning for a human connection – a beautiful, life-affirming human connection to counter the image of evil and death that filled her mind now - burst upon her with unexpected ferocity. It snuck around her carefully built walls of narrowly focused duty and struck at the foundations of her tightly-held principles, creating a sudden conflict she was completely unprepared – and unwilling – to face.

"**Alright, Tycho."** Winter broke the moment, pushing the unsettling emotions as far back as she could. That was another thing she was good at. **"**Enough philosophizing. **Just what are you cross jockeys doing out here?"**

She knew the answer already, of course, but she needed to buy some time to get the situation under control. Prudent verification and careful planning was called for. No time for personal distractions. Results were what mattered. They should be sharing intelligence, calculating new mission parameters and formulating a plan. She _could_ just order him to cooperate. She would be within her authority to commandeer their resources, including the pilots themselves, but a plan was beginning to form and she had the feeling this blond pilot would be able help her… _if_ she could convince him.

She watched his eyes subtly travel the length of her body and thought she saw appreciation in them. Could it be that easy? She was annoyed that she felt both flattered and amused, though she had to admit, he was rather handsome – in a typically brazen flyboy sort of way.

Silently, passively, a desperate neediness stalked the palisades of her psyche.

Her perfect holographic recall brought Bria Tharen's words to mind. _"__**Human males can be..manipulated… by woman, sometimes all too easily. I don't like it, and it doesn't make it right, but it's the results that count. I've learned that, over the years."**_

So be it. If this was the game, she could play too.

Suddenly, Tycho tensed and raised a hand. **"Dame Winter, there's some kind of carnivore creeping up behind you. We had some trouble with them earlier…"** His eyes strained against the darkness, trying to pick out more details on the intruder.

"**Oh really, Lieutenant,"** Winter scoffed, wary at the abrupt change in subject. **"Do you expect me to fall for that?" **

"**He's not kidding,"** called Wes from across the fire. "I see something really scary behind you."

Winter didn't know whether the injured pilot was loopy from the pain medicine or whether this was a planned maneuver of a seasoned wingman. For a moment, she feared she had just made a huge mistake.

Then she heard a scraping sound behind her and the hair on the back of her neck stood up as she felt the presence the men were telling her about. Suddenly the fetid odor of parasite-infested fur and putrid breath washed over her.

"**Wes, can you reach your gun?"** Tycho's eyes didn't leave the creature as he gestured toward Wes. **"One of us should be able to wing it…" **He paused and a ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. ".**... if Winter doesn't kill us both."**

Without warning and without taking her eyes off of Tycho, Winter reached across her body and fired a shot directly behind her. She caught the creature square in the chest just as it started to pounce. Its attack screech died in its throat as it fell to the ground, the forward momentum countered by the energy of the blaster shot.

Calmly, Winter holstered her blaster and raised an eyebrow at Tycho. **"I believe you."**

Tycho looked impressed. He went to inspect the creature that had just threatened them. Prodding it with his foot, he could see that the fearsome feline was larger than the one he and Wes had already taken out but was in all other respects identical. Looking back at the seemingly imperturbable agent, he saw only serene composure and control.

"Beautiful _and_ deadly," he drawled.

Unsure whether Tycho was talking about the creature or her – but quite certain he intended it that way - Winter went to assess Wes' condition. Her medical training was much more advanced than the typical pilot's training so she felt the universal healer's obligation to help an injured being.

Wes let out a weak victory whoop. "What was that thing?"

As she helped him to an upright position so he could breathe better, she explained. **"They're called ronks and they're attracted to the light."**

"**No wonder they've been crawling in here!** And here I thought it was just me." Tycho quipped.

Winter threw him a long-suffering look and rolled her eyes. **"Can you turn down your lantern** – and your ego?"

She glanced at the carcass roasting over the fire on a makeshift spit. "Is that a ronk?" she asked incredulously. "You _are_ brave – or incredibly stupid!"

Wes huffed defensively. "**They don't taste bad.** I was hungry and it seemed pointless for it to go to waste."

Winter finished tightening Wes' bandages, then gestured toward the carcass on the spit. **"You're lucky. You must have killed a male. The flesh of the female is instantly fatal."**

"May I?" At Tycho's nod, she reached out and pulled a strip of meat off the most cooked side of the carcass. The truth was she was famished. She had been skirting civilization for two weeks now, living off of field rations and the few indigenous fruit and berries she knew were safe. Gingerly, she tipped her head back, opened her mouth and tasted the meat with her tongue.

"Oh! It's hot!" Winter rounded her lips into a perfect "O" and blew on the strip several times before once more tasting it with her tongue. Satisfied, she drew the whole thing in her mouth and chewed – delicately at first, and then with more gusto as the flavor reached her tastebuds.

"Mmm. **Fortunately for you, the male is considered a delicacy."** Winter licked her fingers and looked over at Tycho with innocent enthusiasm. **"My compliments to the chef."**

Tycho ducked his head, carefully schooling his face into a neutral expression and mumbled a barely passable "Thank you." Turning his body away from her, he leaned into his survival kit to pull out a cup. He poured some Oratay and offered it to Winter.

Winter graciously sipped the Oratay and managed not to grimace. Like most pilots, Tycho liked his drinks strong. She watched him through her peripheral vision as they sat in companionable silence around the fire.

She reviewed in her mind her mission and her resources. She was supposed to be organizing the distribution of Imperial supplies acquired as part of the deal for Cilpar to join the Alliance. That deal was dead now. The situation had changed drastically when Tascl attacked them. She was operating off the grid now. What the Alliance needed most right now was intelligence. Tascl was hunting the local resistance for a reason – and the Alliance needed to know what that reason was. He must have had a better offer – and that meant somebody in the Empire with a lot of resources. The Alliance needed to know who that somebody was and what sort of threat they represented. Right now, Tycho and Wes represented Winter's best chance to get that intelligence. They were unknown and unanticipated by Tascl. They were in the perfect position to infiltrate the Imperial base at Kiidan.

Wes let out a loud snore on the far side of the fire and then grimaced with pain when he startled himself awake.

Winter immediately re-assessed her resources. Tycho Celchu represented her best chance to get that intelligence. Wes was injured and wasn't going to be helping anybody infiltrate anything.

Winter returned her attention to Tycho, who still reclined against the cave wall. He had given up pretending not to watch her and now sat patiently regarding her with a bemused half-smile on his face.

"Don't stop on account of me," he said, motioning for her to continue her meal.

She realized then that he was not fooled by her seduction act. So it wouldn't be that easy after all. Nevertheless, transparent or not, she had to get his cooperation.

"I need to go get my pack. I'll be right back." Winter left the cave to retrieve her small bag of supplies. Her datapad contained an Imperial public records database that would tell her more about these pilots. In particular, she needed to figure out a way to approach Tycho about her plan. If she just had enough information she was confident she could find a way to persuade him.

Tycho moved to the fire and rotated the carcass with a stick. He re-filled the pot with water from his canteen and added some dried Orotay fruit. Settling down opposite Wes with his back to a rock, he watched the entrance for Winter to return.

"I saw her first," he said to Wes with a grin.

"Point of fact you didn't." Wes chuckled weakly and closed his eyes. "You're just lucky I'm injured. You'd stand no chance against a fully armed and operational Wes Janson!"

--ooOoo--

Winter exited the cave cautiously with her blaster drawn. Ronks were always on the prowl at night. She sidled eastward toward a big tree with some bushes growing close to the base. Reaching down, she pulled out the pack that she had hidden there containing all the resources she had at the moment.

Keeping one eye to the dark forest around her, Winter rummaged through the pack and pulled out the datapad. She punched in the names Tycho Celchu and Wes Janson and sat there silently for a moment, reading the information on the screen.

In the distance, a creature howled at the double moons, urging Winter to hurry her return to the cave.

Reaching the Imperial Academy personnel files, she frowned as she saw that Tycho had a fiancé. So he had been avoiding the topic, after all. She had been on Alderaan when it was destroyed, Winter read.

Winter knew better than to believe everything she read in Imperial files. Their penchant for misinformation combined with classic incompetence made anything but their Imperial Intelligence files suspect. His fiancé could still be alive. For all Winter knew, she could be his wife already. It didn't matter. His personal life was not her concern. All that mattered was his loyalty and competence.

"Find what you were looking for?" Tycho emerged from the entrance to the cave, two cups of tea in his hands and a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. "Anything I can help you with?"

Winter covered her guilty startle with a smile. "I've got my pack, yes." Smoothly she slipped the datapad into the pack and pulled out a ration bar. "I would offer you one but I'm actually down to my last one. It's a good thing you can take care of yourself." She accepted the cup of Oratay to wash down the ration bar.

"I'd say travelling through these woods alone for two weeks certainly qualifies you as self-sufficient," Tycho observed wryly. "How did you do that?"

Winter shrugged. "I've been fully trained in survival techniques. There are many good books on the subject."

"A book? You learned it in a book?" Tycho asked incredulously.

Winter blinked. "I recall everything. I'm quite good at translating the imagined into action."

"Are you now?" Tycho's eyebrow arched pointedly.

Despite herself, Winter almost blushed. "Yes," she plowed ahead firmly. "For example, I imagine you are quite the adventurous soul. You joined the military from a pacifist culture, you rejected the evil you found at great risk to yourself, and now you participate in dangerous missions for the sake of free beings everywhere. When action is called for, I imagine you will be willing to step up and do what it takes every time."

Tycho cocked his head and smirked knowingly. "Alright, Winter. **What's going on? We were told this was going to be a milk run."**

"We?" Winter challenged. She couldn't resist one last test of the Rebel pilot. "**Who's your commander?"**

Tycho pursed his lips and looked at her steadily. He knew revealing operational information would commit him to this course of action one way or another. With a clear voice he stated, "**Wedge Antilles."**

Winter's eyes widened slightly in delight. "You're Rogue Squadron?"

"Yes," Tycho said, acknowledging her recognition and responded with the standard contact protocol. "And I'm betting you're our contact. Would you identify yourself please and authenticate lambda resh?"

"I authenticate lambda mark five," Winter replied promptly. "Code name Targeter." Winter approved of the Lieutenant's professional demeanor, adding it to the list of characteristics she liked about him. "I should have known you were flying for Wedge. He has a talent for picking the best." Flattery was another technique that often worked well. Even better when it was honest flattery.

Despite the official tone of his words, Tycho's manner still radiated a puckish air. Winter realized that this man might have the rhetorical discipline typical of Alderaanians but his body language was another matter. She thought if she studied his face long enough she could read him as well as a Jedi reads the force. Once again, she found herself wanting to do just that.

"May I say I am glad we are on the same side?" Tycho's tone was playful but the words penetrated just the same, yanking jarringly on that thread of yearning winding itself through the core of Winter's being.

Winter found herself swimming in the deep blue of his eyes, lost in unfamiliar emotions and long-confined needs. She felt the heat of passion sweep away an emptiness she hadn't known existed within her. The full double moons bathed them in soft light and a cool breeze carried the sounds of the jungle as the two Rebels stood absorbed in the glow of each other.

Soon, the silence grew more than Winter could bear. **"**Let's go back inside. We have a lot to discuss."

--ooOoo--


	3. In Imperial Custody

Tycho Celchu, hero of the Battle of Endor and Ace pilot in the Alliance's celebrated Rogue Squadron hacked his way through the jungle of Cilpar with his machete. The Imperial TIE pilot uniform he wore was stained with sweat and plant sap. Small tears appeared where he had been snagged by the dense undergrowth of this temperate region of Cilpar.

He had been shot down – and by his own X-Wing! Tycho shook his head at the memory. This one would be hard to live down when he got back to Wes.

But at least he would get that chance. Most TIEs didn't have escape equipment. The Empire expected their pilots to die fighting – and gave them no other option. These TIEs had been modified, though. Moff Tascl, as vicious as he was, knew that he would get no reinforcements from the Empire any time soon since the Emperor had died. Tascl had been smart enough to protect his assets – including his human ones.

Tycho had gathered extensive intelligence for Winter while he played his part in her plan. He had to admit it was a pretty good plan. The Imperial Captain's uniform she had procured for him had secured his entry into the Imperial compound and the code slicing she had done on the personnel files kept him there as an accepted relief pilot for the TIE squadron. The Imps bought his cover without a second thought. He now knew the layout of the compound, the force structure of their ground and air support, the leadership and their quirks, and the scheduled patrols and security sweeps. He had even had the chance to scout the perimeter of the compound for lines of fire and blind zones that might be useful in an assault. Now he just needed to get out of this jungle and deliver that information to Winter and Wedge.

THWUMP! THWUMP!

Tycho strained to hear the distinctive thumping in the distance. It was an Imperial Scout Transport! Chicken walkers, the rebels called the two-legged walker because it looked like a chicken and it squawked liked a chicken when shot. He was still wearing his TIE uniform. He could hitch a ride with them. It may be the only way out of this jungle.

Tycho knew they could only be traveling on the dry creek bed he had crossed awhile back. Heavy equipment like an AT-ST wouldn't be able to make it through this dense forestation. The Empire had at least learned that lesson at Endor. He listened carefully to triangulate on the source of the sound. The echoes in the forest could make apparent direction deceptive. Finally, confident he was hearing it correctly, he calculated a likely intercept point based on their respective rates of speed - slow for him, only slightly faster for them - and his memory of the terrain from above. He wasn't too worried. He knew his sense of space was highly developed. A starfighter pilot had to be aware of his relative location at all times. In this, he was fully confident.

30 minutes later he emerged from the jungle and stood on an outcropping of rocks at a bend in the dry creek bed waving his uniform jacket. An AT-ST and a heavy assault hovertank rounded the bend in the hard-cut ravine amidst deep cliffs and overhanging ledges.

The head of the AT-ST oriented on him instantly and he could feel the aiming reticles of the twin blaster cannons centered on his chest. Both vehicles stopped for a moment, no doubt communicating orders. Tycho stood patiently waiting. **"Don't shoot!"** he said helpfully.

The hatch popped on the hovertank and an Imperial Infantry Commander stuck his head out.

"Who are you?" he snapped gruffly. "**Where'd you come from? What's your unit?"**

"**Celchu, Tycho. Captain, Imperial Navy.**" Tycho stiffened to attention as he identified himself. Winter had kept his real name in the records she sliced so the altered portions would be harder to spot. The Empire was quite helpful in this regard as his defection to the Rebel cause would not have been noted in the regulation data file. The Empire did not admit to losing any troops to the Rebellion, let alone elite pilots. Winter had only had to create a falsified posting to cover the last several months since he had gone AWOL. By the time his records were routed through Imperial Intelligence and his real history was revealed, he would be long gone. **"I was assigned to Kiidan unit, but I got shot down by an X-Wing Squadron. I've been hacking my way to daylight for thirty-six hours.** I sure could use a lift back to civilization."

The commander bent down and consulted with someone inside the tank. No doubt checking their datapads for personnel rosters. Then he straightened and assumed the posture of amused superiority that is universally earned when one rival military branch rescues another. **"All right, Captain. We'll take you into Kiidan. Climb aboard."**

--ooOoo--

Winter sat on the troop bench in the belly of the cramped hovertank, hands shackled and a guard's blaster just inches from her face. She kept her beleaguered Princess Leia mask firmly in place. This wasn't the ideal way to infiltrate the Imperial compound, but it would work. It wasn't like she had much choice about it, anyways. She seethed inside at the memory of a sneering Vance Rego amidst a squadron of white-armored Stormtroopers – all pointing blasters at her and Wes. At least now she knew who the traitor was!

She knew it was quite the gamble, but she was counting on the vanity of the local governor to not have her killed instantly. She fully expected she would be exhibited as a prize prisoner for awhile. During that time, she would be gathering much needed intelligence. An opportunity for escape would present itself somehow. It had to. Then that traitor would earn his just reward for what happened to Tamarack, Moff Tascl would be called to account for what he did to Gates and Aranis, and one more piece of the Empire would die.

She felt the tank stop and heard the muffled discussion outside. Unsure and frankly, uncaring, Winter's mind reviewed what she knew of the Governor's compound. Like a computer pulling up data files, she shuffled through the memories in her perfect recall, seeking patterns and connections that she could use. Like a spider, she built a web of datapoints around which she could hang her threads of planning, searching for a way out of the maze and toward her desired outcome. It was a constant reshuffling. Always absorbing more information and reassessing old information. Resources came and went. This was her secret weapon – her mind.

Just as Winter was wondering how Tycho was doing, she could swear she heard his voice.

"**Appreciate the ride." **The voice that sounded like Tycho had said.

"**You look beat up, Captain."** The tank commander was saying. **"Fortunately, we have a skilled healer on board. Princess Leia!"**

Tycho hadn't even tried to cover his surprise. **"Princess Leia Organa?"** He gasped as he dropped down to the inner chamber of the troop transport.

Winter was shocked to see Tycho here but she did not, could not allow it to show. Maintaining her mask of defiance, she looked up at the gorgeous blond Alderaanian she had sent on this mission.

"**Princess, take care of this pilot,"** the commander demanded imperiously.

Winter jutted her chin out and pointedly raised her shackled wrists. **"Why should I?"**

"**It's a long way to Kiidan. You wouldn't like riding outside – in the sun."** The Infantry Commander gave Tycho a smirk and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Actually, it would probably be better than this Imperial sweatbox_._ **"I'll treat him – but not because I'm afraid of you. He's just a soldier. He can't be blamed if his superiors are cretins."** Winter hoped that was sufficient resistance without going too far. She desperately needed to talk to Tycho – to find out what he had learned and to plan their next move. She doubted they would have that privacy, but maybe they could find a veiled way to communicate.

Then Tycho surprised her – again. **"I'll take that seat, soldier."** Tycho dismissed the guard firmly.

"**But I'm supposed to guard her," **he protested.

"How is she going to patch me up with you in the way?" Tycho put a leer on his face and his voice went steely. **"I think I can handle her. Go on."**

The guard understood the message immediately. **"Yes, sir."** He moved to the front of the transport with the driver. It was less than three meters away but the noise of the hover engines insured they wouldn't be overheard if they spoke softly. Visual inspection was still a problem, though, as the forward steerage compartment was open to the back troop area.

They needn't have worried. The driver and the guard sat rigidly looking forward. They had been in situations like this before with superior officers. They knew their duty.

Tycho's leer quickly transformed into a trying-not-to-grin grin as he surveyed Winter's condition. He sat across from her in the confined space and leaned in. "_Need some help, Dame Winter?"_

A flash of annoyance spoiled the relieved cast on Winter's face. She took a moment to open the medkit the commander had given her while surreptitiously verifying that the driver and the guard were still facing forward. She took some bacta gel and started examining him for needed application.

"_**What happened to you**_**?" **she whispered.

Tycho took a moment to allow Winter to complete her task. Her touch felt really good and he indulged the sensations her warm fingers created. She smoothed some gel on the angry cuts on his bare arms, then inspected his neck, scalp and face. His face went slack as she tilted his chin with her thumb and forefinger to get a better angle on a scratch that crossed his cheekbone.

It was then that Winter noticed Tycho looking at her with unmistakable heat in his eyes. She realized belatedly her hands were caressing his chin in a decidedly unclinical manner. _Traitors! _she thought to her hands but she refused to blush. Instead, she allowed a subtle smile to touch her lips. "Is that better, Captain?" she asked in a lofty tone as she dropped her hands to put the bacta away.

Tycho grabbed her hands and returned them to his face. "If that's what a Captain gets, i**t's fun being a captain.**" With one hand he held her hands to his face and with the other hand he reached out to caress her hair.

Winter was surprised at the strength of her body's reaction to his touch. Her stomach actually fluttered in a way she hadn't felt since the schoolgirl's crush she had on that diplomat's son at the University. Her throat tightened and her breath hitched. Winter breathed in his musky odor heavy with sweat and jungle. Tycho leaned over and for one wild second, Winter thought he was going to kiss her right then and there.

"_They're watching,"_ he reminded her. "_You're not supposed to be enjoying this."_

Stunned, Winter almost laughed out loud. She choked back an undignified snort as she shook her head at him. Leaning back, she raised an eyebrow and loudly declared "Captain! I'll thank you to remove your hands from my person!"

Quietly, so only Tycho could hear, she added deliberately, "_Not._"

Tycho's eyes sparkled at her flirtatious riposte and he moved to sit next to her on the bench. Crowding up against her, one hand on the overhead stability hold, he growled loudly, "Come now, Princess. I heard you like pilots. Especially the scruffy ones."

"_**I got shot down by my own R2 unit."**_ He whispered, answering her earlier question.

Winter didn't have to feign her chagrined look. _**"Whoops."**_

Tycho was shocked. _**"That was you?"**_ He didn't realize she could fly, let alone fly well enough to shoot him down. "_Did you learn that in a book, too?"_

"_**I was sending a message to Wedge when it took off. I finally overrode your R2, and found myself surrounded by hostiles, so…"**_ She shrugged and let the rest trail off in a silent apology.

Tycho stared at her in amazement and finally snorted. "You little manka!" he exclaimed loudly for the guard's benefit. Quietly, he added, "_Why aren't you a Rogue?_"

Winter met his eyes in blatant mutual admiration. "_Oh, you'll find I have too many talents to be confined to one squadron."_

Tycho cocked his head slightly. "_I will? Promise?"_

This time, Winter did push Captian Celchu back from her position on the bench. "Enough!" She proclaimed loudly. "Guard! Guard!" she called.

"_I'm going to infiltrate the Governor's compound. You need to find a way to get out and bring Wedge in. I will be fine."_ She whispered her instructions to Tycho. _"The mission is our number one priority. We have to stop Tascl."_

"_**We'll talk later."**_ Tycho promised as he got up from the bench, knowing it was dangerous to stay any longer – both because of the risk of discovery and the risk of pushing Winter too far. He snapped at the guard to return to his post as he went forward to sit in the co-driver's seat the guard had just vacated. He remained vigilant, though, keeping an eye on the guard to make sure he didn't get any ideas himself, and every now and then, when he caught Winter's eye and when nobody else was looking, he winked at her and allowed himself a huge internal grin.

--ooOoo--

The low _thrum_ of the heavy engines tapered off slowly as the hovertank stopped and the cargo door swung open with a loud clang. **"This way, Highness."** The Infantry troops surrendered custody to the Stormtroopers in the massive hangar stocked with droids, tanks and AT's. Winter made sure to get mental snapshots of all the equipment so she could catalog it all later for the Alliance's dossier on Moff Tascl.

The Imperial Colonel jerked her forward impatiently. "No point in dragging, Princess. The Governor is eager to meet you."

Winter noticed he didn't mention the Moff. She wondered what the relationship was between the Governor and the Moff. It wouldn't be unusual in Imperial politics to have tension between competing authorities. The Governor answered to the Moff, but governors throughout the galaxy seldom limited their ambitions to just one planet.

"**Get your hands off me! I don't need help walking,"** Winter exclaimed imperiously. She had to maximize the impact of her Princess Leia disguise if she wanted to ensure her value to the Governor. If there was a rift between the Moff and the Governor, she was pretty sure she preferred to be in the Governor's custody. She shuddered with the picture-perfect memory of the personal glee in Moff Tascl's voice as he ordered the execution of the Tamarack townspeople.

The Imperial Colonel – Colonel Mapter, she had heard him called - led her in silence down lengthy corridors away from the equipment hangar and deeper into the compound. She stayed alert, capturing the rank and nametag of every person they passed, the make and model of every droid, and started plotting a map of the premises in her head.

357 paces, two left turns and one right turn later, Colonel Mapter stopped at a large double door with two Stormtroopers standing guard. He touched the comm panel and leaned in to request entrance. The double doors slid open soundlessly to reveal a sumptuously decorated large office.

Pulling Winter with him, he approached the large desk against the far wall. Behind the desk sat a large, bald man that looked to Winter to be a human Hutt. Corpulent and fleshy, his slovenly shaped features held no hint of intelligence or sagacity. Winter knew better than to be deceived by appearances, though. Governorships are not hereditary posts in the Empire and while there were many an incompetent leader rewarded with posts of authority for some act of obeisance, most, if not all Governors excelled at one thing – control of the populous.

Colonel Mapter snapped to attention in front of the desk and saluted. **"Sir, may I present Princess Leia Organa."**

The large man behind the desk had been watching their approach with unadulterated glee. Eagerly, he waved them forward. "Let me look at her, let me look at her," he ordered impatiently. Holding out a flimsi in front of him, he squinted one eye as he glanced back and forth between Winter and the flimsi, scrutinizing the resemblance as if she were a prized work of art he was purchasing.

"It's her!" he crowed, clapping his hands together. **"Princess Leia, a great honor… Come closer. Have a seat. Would you like a drink?"** he barked in rapid succession. "Come, come. We have much to discuss. What do you think of my compound? What do you think of Cilpar? It is much too agrarian for your refined tastes, I am sure. Don't let that fool you! I have the finest of everything at my disposal, and now it is yours. Rare Alderaanian wine or the best ronk delicacies? Koolach silk perhaps? Hmm, yes, silk becomes you. I think we can manage that, hmm? What say you?"

Winter reeled from the onslaught of words spilling out of the Governor's mouth. **"No, thank you," **she managed to answer gracefully.

"Yes, yes, you will like it, you will see." The Governor continued as if she hadn't spoken. "It is so kind of you to join me. It is such a fortuitous time in galactic history, eh? What with that regrettable business with the Emperor and all. You and I, my dear, we see the future, do we not? We understand what it takes to move forward. But you must be tired after your arduous journey.'

"Please, " he continued magnanimously. "Do take advantage of my fine hospitality. **I hope you won't refuse my invitation to dinner. We've prepared quite a feast in your honor."**

Winter was surprised that he actually paused his prattle to await her answer. **"Why honor me, Governor? You've made your choice, and it's not the New Republic."**

"**Yes, but once you hear my plan you'll realize how brilliant it is and where you'll fit in." **The Governor's expression hardened and his portly frame leaned forward intently. **"The New Republic is dying, Highness. But there's no reason for you to die with them."**

He held Winter's gaze for a split second to make sure she fully understood the threat, then suddenly slapped his pudgy hands on his desk, causing her to startle. He rose to his full height - making him barely taller than when he was sitting – and motioned Colonel Mapter forward.

"**Dinner at eight, hmm?"** he asked mildly. Turning to Mapter, he directed the Colonel to remove the cuffs. **"She's not going anywhere."**

Colonel Mapter escorted Winter back the way they had come and then took a left turn before stopping at a nondescript door on the right. He punched the security code into the control panel and moved aside so she could enter. "The attendant will be along shortly to assist you in your preparations for this evening's dinner. I suggest you get cleaned up and start looking like a princess." He left with a curled lip and a haughty sniff.

Winter immediately inspected her surroundings. She was in an average size state room with the usual assortment of personal hygiene items, comfortable bedding and pleasant if somewhat prosaic décor. There was a transparisteel window bay but the other side was pitch black. She couldn't tell if the window was covered from the outside or if there was a privacy screen installed and set to maximum. She searched for a control panel but found none.

There was also a standard holonet station tucked in a small alcove between the abbreviated canopy at the head of the bed and the blackened window. She touched the control panel just to be thorough and unexpectedly it lit up with the Cilpar Governmental Channel. Eagerly, Winter browsed through the feeds, looking for a two-way communication channel. There was none, of course. This holonet station was set for receive-only, hosting only the Imperial News Network and an approved holodrama library, undoubtedly meant to impress the Governor's guests with Cilpar's cosmopolitan beneficence.

That was their second mistake.

Their first mistake had been not conducting an electronics scan when they apprehended her. Everyone knew Leia Organa's strengths lay in the diplomatic arena. She was gutsy and cunning and a skilled negotiator – but she wasn't a slicer.

Winter, on the other hand, was.

She did a quick scan of the room for obvious monitoring devices. She found none but knew there was little chance she had complete privacy. Nevertheless, she had to risk it.

Seizing the opportunity, Winter popped the access panel to the communications array. Subtly, she palmed the small chip that was imbedded in the waistband of her pants. If any security forces were watching her, they wouldn't be alarmed by her tinkering in the holonet station as long as they thought she was without the proper tools. In fact, they were probably laughing at her foolishness.

Deftly, Winter removed the circuit inhibitor that was the only physical barrier to outgoing communication, simultaneously replacing it with the smuggled chip. That was the easy part. Replacing the panel with a gesture of frustration for the benefit of any spectators, she settled in to wade through the hard part, fully anticipating that there would be layers of intricate security screens in place.

Much to her surprise she found only standard Imperial security codes – codes the Rebellion had cracked many months earlier and were stored in her memory.

Finding the personal comlink frequency of TIE fighter pilot Captain Tycho Celchu, Winter sent a short text only message, arranging contact later that evening. They both needed to make sure they were free to talk and not be overheard.

Winter then set a ferret program running to seek out and copy as much secure data as possible while she was at dinner. Frowning, she bit her lip when she remembered she had very little spare memory capacity in the small chip.

Thinking quickly, she scanned the low band frequencies and selected one that looked unused. She set the chip to transmit at that frequency, overlaying the feed with instructions to record and return to home base. She was fairly confident Tycho's R2 was still monitoring the low band frequencies, awaiting orders. It was a shot in the dark while on a fishing expedition, but it was the sort of calculated gamble that Rebels took.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she calmed her swirling mind and began sorting through the images she had collected since her capture. The hangar had an unusually high number of vehicles and droids being repaired and the personnel all seemed to have a harried, overworked appearance. She knew better than to reach any premature conclusions but she wondered if the Governor was stretched thin. She was eager to see what information her ferret slice program came up with.

Moving into the refresher, she complied with Colonel Mapter's snide directive to clean up. She had to admit the shower felt good after two weeks in the forest. Even Tycho had noticed how disheveled she had become.

Winter sighed audibly as she recalled his blue eyes raking her form when they first met. She wondered if she would get a chance to enjoy his company again. She wondered if she wanted that. No, she knew the answer to that. She wanted it very badly… perhaps too badly. That wasn't good. It was not a good idea to get involved with anyone. Not for her. Her life revolved around the New Republic and Princess Leia. She couldn't be fair to a man in a relationship. For her, the mission had always come first and always would. It was who she was. No, she decided, it wasn't a good idea for her or him. Yet…

Winter suddenly realized she was very, very tired. Stepping out of the shower she donned the luxurious robe that hung on the door hook and went out to sit on the bed.

She was awakened by a rap on the door, followed by a soft whoosh as the door slid open before she could respond. "Come, Princess," the attendant said briskly. "No time for napping. **Governor Norquest wants you to wear this."**

"**Get out."** Winter snapped, annoyed she had allowed herself to fall asleep.

"I'm glad you have been sensible enough to wash up," the attendant continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Will you be needing help dressing?"

"I'm quite capable of doing that myself."

"And what of your hair? I am familiar with the latest fashions from Imperial Center. Will you allow me to select one for you?"

"I will not. I have and always will make my own comportment decisions!"

"Yes, well his Lordship requires that I ensure your readiness for this evening's dinner. So I will allow you to dress and style yourself _if_ you do so promptly and satisfactorily as befitting a personage of your stature. Please proceed," The attendant held out the dress expectantly.

Winter took the dress with stone cold silence, realizing she was going to have to dress in front of him because she couldn't afford to allow him to remain unsupervised while the ferret slice was running on the holonet station. With every ounce of royal bearing she could muster, she turned her back and dropped her robe.

She dressed quickly then moved to the refresher to arrange her hair in the elaborate braids that Leia favors. Looking in the mirror, she judged the effect to be quite stunning. The dress was just the sort of dress she would have loved to have worn to a royal ball on Alderaan.

But this wasn't Alderaan and she didn't like the idea of being anyone's trophy on display.

"Time to go, Princess." The attendant escorted her back down the corridors to the Governor's office. The table had been set with an elegant dinner service but the chairs were empty. Winter's heart sank when she noted there were only two place settings at the table. Did the Governor fancy an intimate evening of romance? If so, it appears she had underestimated his ambitions.

"**That's it! Now you're putting on a show!"** The porcine napoleon clapped his hands and chortled in glee as an odd looking creature dressed in a royal blue robe with an Edwardian collar rode a unicycle about the room while juggling several balls in the air.

Suddenly it veered toward the Governor in a desperate attempt to maintain its balance and in the process lost control of the objects it was juggling. Several crashed to the ground with one landing directly on the Governor, splitting open and splattering a yellow yolk substance across his bald head. Eggs! They weren't balls, but eggs.

The creature must be meant as entertainment. Training non-human creatures to perform complicated tricks for the amusement and curiosity of friends and guests was a common past time in Imperial High Society. And they didn't much care whether they were sentient or not. Thankfully, Winter saw no sign that this creature was aware of its denigration.

"**No! No! Idiot! Why--"** the Governor stopped in mid-sentence as he saw Winter enter the room. **"Oh my!"**

The Governor stared, mouth open, yolk still dripping down his face, at the vision Winter presented as she glided gracefully through the entryway. Even the Stormtrooper guards turned to watch her descend, reflexively acknowledging the regal authority she exuded.

"**You guys act as if you've never seen a woman before,"** Winter remarked sarcastically.

"**There are few women of your quality on Cilpar, Highness,"** the Governor assured her as he wiped the egg from his head. "Come, let me look at you."

Hiding her revulsion at the touch of his pasty skin, she took the hand he offered her and allowed herself to be led in a half circle before him, displayed for his inspection. "Yes, indeed. You are a vision of loveliness, my dear." The Governor bent and kissed her hand in his. "Now please, join me for dinner."

They sat at the table as they were served one course after another of the finest delicacies Cilpar had to offer. The Governor dominated the conversation, regaling her with tales of his heroic leadership and the great esteem in which he was held by people of great importance.

Winter nodded when appropriate and politely acknowledged his palaver, waiting for his motives to be revealed. She knew his type. He would puff himself up with self-adulation and assume she would be equally impressed, then be shocked and quite angry when she ultimately denied whatever deal he had to offer. She tried to enjoy her meal because she guessed she would not be getting another like it until her rescue.

She refused to dwell on what might happen to her when she refused him. She would deal with whatever would come.

"So you see, my dear, **I'm no mere governor. I'm expecting visitors shortly…, powerful visitors who will elevate me to the next level… an ambassador, or perhaps a cabinet minister**." Finally he paused and turned pensively to face her. "I could do even better with a Princess as a spouse."

A marriage proposal? Winter barely restrained herself from choking on her food. She quickly hid her face with a napkin while she regained her composure.

"Oh, I can see you are surprised! Do not worry, my dear. I am not offended." The Governor set down his fork "But I think you will find that this is in your best interest."

"You have noticed I am sure, that Moff Tascl does not dine with us tonight. Surely, you are aware of the protocols involved with such an important prisoner such as yourself. I am risking quite a bit by not turning you over to him immediately."

"This is my offer. A happy, comfortable life at my side as we rise together in Imperial Society," he paused for dramatic effect. "Or Moff Tascl."

He reached out and took Winter's hand in his. His eyes showed amusement when she winced at his touch. "Perhaps I should offer you a confidence to demonstrate my good intentions."

"I can guarantee you that you will never be touched in my company. My appetites… run in a different direction, shall we say?" He cleared his throat nervously. "You would be my spouse but you need not worry about children or… other wifely duties."

His eyebrows knit together as his face took on a harder edge. "Moff Tascl, on the other hand, is known to take a, um, _personal_ interest in his female prisoners." He shook his head in disapproval, making a tsking sound with his tongue. "The man is just too rough with his toys, I dare say."

Winter stared in amazement at the utter arrogance and foolishness of this buffoon. Arrogance because he actually believed she would entertain such an idea and foolishness because he actually believed he had to power to protect her. She felt like laughing and spitting at the same time.

But she couldn't ignore the comment about Moff Tascl. She thought immediately of Rascol and knew with instant dread what had happened to her. That was why she had never returned from the Moff's palace. If she had been caught, she must have been subjected to Tascl's "play." The rage burned in the pit of her stomach at the thought of such treatment. In a way, she was glad Gates was not here to hear this horrible truth.

Winter forced herself to smile. "What an… interesting offer. I shall have to think about it, of course." She knew how to play for time until another opportunity arose.

The Governor smiled in genuine pleasure. "Excellent! Now, lets…"

"Let me in!" A booming voice echoed from outside the antechamber. The whine of blaster shots rang out, followed by some muffled thuds. The Stormtroopers standing guard inside the Governor's quarters raised their weapons, instantly on full alert. The door whooshed open and two surprisingly precise bolts dropped the guards immediately.

If it wasn't so dangerous to be in the crossfire, Winter would have enjoyed the sight of Stormtrooper fighting Stormtrooper.

With the guards dispatched, the leading members of the invading Stormtrooper squad moved in, their plated boots clanking rapidly on the metallic floor. The attendant dove for cover behind a sparsely foliaged plant, trembling as he cowered in fear. The butler dropped his serving tray, spilling an entire bottle of expensive champagne as he raised his hands high in a gesture of surrender.

Governor Norquest's face was blotchy red as he rose in apoplectic rage. "What is the meaning of this?" he roared as much as his squeaky voice would let him.

Winter sat rigidly in her chair, not permitting her fear or shock a prominent position in her mind. She had designated the desk as the best cover when she first entered the room, but it was several steps away from the dining table and the shock troops already had her in their line of sight. The Governor did not appear to be carrying a weapon and the blaster rifles carried by the downed guards had already been scooped up by the incoming troops. She had no choice but to play this out.

The lead troopers rushed the Governor from behind, grabbing him by his stubby arms and dragging him to the middle of the room. Pushing him harshly to his knees, they assumed a position of executioner with the point of their blasters pressed to the back of his bald head. The Governor trembled in rage and fear, blubbering about his well-placed friends.

"Oh, do shut up Norquest." A tall man with jet black hair shaped in a deep widow's peak, piercing black eyes, and a cruelly sharp mustache and goatee spoke contemptuously as he stepped into the secured office. "There is nothing you can say to help you now."

The Governor's face looked stricken as the sinister man turned his attention to Winter. "I have the evidence and the absolute authority to have you executed here on the spot. Your parley with the Rebels is over." He was speaking to the Governor but he was gazing intently at Winter, a gleam of avarice in his sharp, black eyes.

The man snapped to attention and gave Winter a courtly bow "Moff Boren Tascl, at your service, your Highness… as you will shortly be at mine." His cold promise sent a shiver down Winter's spine despite the detached demeanor she was maintaining. He turned his attention back to Norquest. With a quick snap, he backhanded the Governor's thick jowels, sending him sniveling to the floor, nose-first. "Your attempt to betray me is too late," he snarled. "Your clumsy intrusion and theft of secured materiel will gain you nothing. Your Rebel friends will soon be all dead! Take him to the brig then dispose of him."

As Winter watched the whimpering Governor be dragged away, she realized she had unwittingly contributed to his demise by slicing into the Imperial system. Their blaming the Governor had removed him as a threat to her, but in its place now stood a greater one – this one with twisted and sadistic appetites.

The Moff's words replayed in her mind. He had said "intrusion and theft." Did that mean her ferret slice had been successful? He didn't say it had been averted; only that it had been detected. If Tycho's R2 unit received the data and was able to deliver it to Wedge, she hoped they would find something useful for planning an assault. That meant there was still a chance for a rescue.

It was a slim hope but she clung to it.

--ooOoo--

Winter sat stiffly on the overstuffed lounge chaise in Moff Tascl's "special guest" quarters. She had been deposited here many hours ago by a pair of silent Stormtroopers in gleaming white armor. Of course she had examined her surroundings immediately, but unlike the Governor, the Moff knew better than to leave electronic equipment lying around near dangerous prisoners. What she did find, however, left her thoroughly repelled and aghast.

So she sat, calming herself by watching her favorite memories like a holovid in her mind. She went through the usual childhood images of her real mother before she died; her adopted family, the Organas; exploring the crystal caves with Leia as young teens; dancing at her first ball; her first kiss with that handsome diplomat's son at the university.

Tacked on at the end of her reverie the image of Tycho Celchu arose unbidden. She replayed the delicious dizziness she first felt outside the cave's entrance while lost in those deep blue eyes. She felt the stubble of his chin as vividly as when she had first unconsciously caressed him while tending his wounds. Her heart fluttered again while re-watching him lean over her as if to kiss her. But he hadn't and now her heart ached with regret. She hung on the last image she had of him, a quick wink and a cock-sure grin meant to reassure her as she was led away in handcuffs and he returned to the dangerous undercover assignment she had given him.

Winter jerked upright at the sound of the door sliding open and the sight of a large dark figure blocking half the light shining in. The door whooshed shut behind him and he punched in a code to make sure it stayed that way. Taking a chair from the wall, he twirled it around backwards and straddled it, leaning over the back not a couple meters away from where Winter sat. "Now, my dear," he began. "Where were we?"

They both sat there staring at each other, the Moff leering in anticipation while Winter refused to show anything but disdain. "You are quite the powerful Moff, aren't you," she sneered.

He smiled a malevolent smile, his white teeth flashing evilly in the dim light. "You like powerful men, don't you, Princess? You've spent your whole life surrounded by them, currying favor with them and likewise, they currying favor with you. I should think you have quite a bit of experience satisfying powerful men, hmm?"

"You disgust me!" Winter spat out.

"Do I now? Well, I think I shall show you exactly what real power is!" With that he sprang out of the chair and grabbed her wrist, yanking her upright. Winter was prepared for that, though, and responded with a quick twist of her wrist, freeing it, and an upper cut with the butt of her hand to the Moff's chin. It was the first move her self-defense instructor had taught her when she started lessons at six years old.

Unfortunately, the Moff knew that move, too. He shifted his body weight slightly, turning her hard blow into a glancing tap and grabbed the offending arm, twisting it painfully behind her back. He held her there, one arm pinned between them, his other arm encircling her to hold her tightly against him. His chin rested on her shoulder and Winter nearly retched when she felt his hot breath against her cheek.

"I do love a good fighter and you don't disappoint, do you, Rebel Princess?" He inhaled her scent deeply as he squeezed tighter against her struggles. "You Rebel women do seem to be the best fighters, I've got to give you that."

Winter brought her foot down hard on the Moff's boot and simultaneously twisted in the direction of her pinned arm. Tascl involuntarily released his grip just enough to allow her room to bring up her elbow into his solar plexus. His breath left him with an audible huff but she didn't have enough leverage to knock him back completely. Springing away from his grasp, Winter grabbed the only weapon she could find – the light fixture on the table. Swinging it wildly around she narrowly missed the nimble Moff, who began cackling with harsh laughter. "Come now, Highness, you're giving me no choice but to restrain you."

Suddenly, a powerful explosion rocked the building, followed by several smaller explosions that seemed farther away. The Moff straightened immediately and pulled out a small holdout blaster Winter hadn't seen. He pointed it at her and motioned her back to her seat on the lounge chaise. "Sit," he ordered. He then went to the access panel by the door and keyed in the codes to open the door. "We _will_ continue this later," he promised with a leer.

With that, the Moff was gone and Winter was left alone again. She tested the door just to make sure it was still locked. It was. Pacing the floor, she struggled to regain control of her emotions. Her outrage was coupled with a fierce celebratory vengefulness, for she knew exactly what those explosions meant.

Rogue Squadron had begun its assault.

--ooOoo--

Several hours and many explosions later, the door opened once again. A considerably flustered Moff stood agitatedly in the doorway, a blaster pointing at her from his hand. **"On your feet, Highness. It's time to leave," **he ordered harshly.

She regarded him coolly from the chaise, seemingly not having moved since he had left. "Don't you mean, **it's time for **_**you**_** to leave?" **

Tascl made a strangled sound of disgust deep in his throat and covered the distance between them in three explosive strides. **"Shut up,"** he growled, poking the blaster barrel point blank against her temple. "I may be leaving but I will not be going empty handed. You will guarantee my survival, but she won't much care whether you are dead or alive." He emphasized his point by roughly shoving her up and out the door, one hand gripping her arm painfully, the other jabbing her between the shoulder blades with his blaster.

He shoved her all the way down the winding corridor, dodging urgently moving troops and scurrying support personnel. The explosions continued as all around her Winter saw evidence of a successful Rebel assault on the Moff's palace. Falling debris betrayed the failed shield generator and empty equipment bays revealed the exhaustion of Imperial resources. The smell of smoke hung in the air as fires burned where missile strikes had ignited some combustible.

Tascl dragged her out of the building onto an open-air courtyard large enough to serve as a landing pad. In the center of the courtyard sat a Lambda class shuttle, presumably the Moff's personal transport.

Desperately, Winter searched the perimeter for signs of Rebel troops. She knew if she left Cilpar with the Moff, her chances at survival went from slim to none. Despite Tascl's rough handling, she slowed her pace, trying to give the Rebels every opportunity.

"This isn't a good idea, Moff." Winter stopped walking and stood crossing her arms as if lecturing a child. "We won't make it through the X-Wing screen, let alone past the corvette sitting in orbit. The Alliance has won. You're much better off if you just admit that. At least you'll live… probably."

"All the more reason to take you with me," he sneered in response. "Your arrogance blinds you to my superior strategy. **I need you to pilot my shuttle.** With you at the helm, the Rebels won't dare fire on me."

Winter sniffed in disdain. **"Didn't you ever learn to do anything useful?"**

"**Get in the shuttle,"** he growled menacingly. **"Try anything and I'll shoot you and use a program to lift off."**

They reached the shuttle and were starting up the ramp when the rescue finally came. A large brown lump of fur and teeth flew at the Moff with a mighty roar. Winter recoiled as blaster bolts zinged across the courtyard, followed rapidly by a figure running toward them at top speed.

The Wookiee – for that was surprisingly what that mass of fur and teeth was – had knocked the blaster out of the Moff's hands as if batting at a gorji fly and now had the Moff on his knees, strangling him while maintaining a continuous litany of Wookiee curses.

"**Murderer!"** the running figure screamed. Winter's eyes widened in surprise as she recognized Elscol Loro, the red-haired woman from Tamarack.

On the far side of the courtyard an explosion took out the last remaining gun emplacement. The responsible X-Wing circled to land immediately in its wake and a figure disembarked.

"**GRRR **MRRROOWWWL,**"** the Wookiee bellowed indistinctly, shaking the Moff as if he were so much dirty laundry. One massive paw covered the Moff's face as the Wookiee moved in for the killing blow.

"**Groznik! No!"** Elscol stopped the Wookiee with an outstretched hand. **"Let the courts deal with him. At least he'll get a fair shake."**

Tascl took a deep, gasping breath as the Wookiee released his face. He struggled against the massive arms that still encircled his shoulders as his face was an icon of hate. **"You won't last a day! The Imperials are landing with massive strength!"**

Winter stepped up. **"You're misinformed, Moff."** The pieces had finally snapped into place for her. The Moff had given her the last clue she needed to put it altogether when he had let slip that his Imperial benefactor was female. **"Now that you've lost your little Kingdom, the Imperials have lost interest in you.**" She smiled coldly. "Your benefactress will not risk losing _her_ precious few resources just to save you. As you implied before… you have nothing to offer _her_."

"**Winter!"**

"Wedge!" Winter bounded over to her close friend and encircled him in a hug. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you! Thanks for the rescue!"

"Thanks for the intel. I'm assuming that information that Tycho's R2 passed us came from you?"

Winter smiled and nodded her head. "Rebel luck strikes again! That was a shot in the dark. But I knew if you got it, you would deliver."

"You've got Tycho to thank for that. He insisted we press the attack when you didn't make your scheduled contact." Wedge took in her evening gown and elaborate hair-do. "You didn't dress up just for me, did you?"

Winter smacked him playfully on the arm. "Behave, flyboy! You wouldn't happen to have a spare flight suit, would you? Even a utility uniform? This dress reeks of Imps."

"I think you look fantastic." An appreciative voice came from behind her.

Winter turned, surprised she had enough adrenaline left after her rescue to cause her heart to skip as it did. **"I'm glad to see you made it, 'Captain,'"** she said carefully. **"Your pal Janson is recovering in the infirmary."**

"**Glad to hear it, 'Princess,'"** he answered smoothly. "Congratulations on a mission well-planned. You've got quite the future in Intelligence ops."

"Tascl will pay for his crimes against sentience," Winter growled with vehemence. "This is why I do what I do."

Tycho nodded with understanding. "There's a lot of evil in the Empire that needs purging, isn't there?" He turned his eyes to survey the burning compound littered with broken machines and shattered bodies. "Although why it has to be so costly, I'll never understand."

Winter looked at him sharply. "Freedom and honor is worth any price."

Their eyes met, a now familiar spark jumping between them. "And we've both paid a very high price, haven't we?" Tycho said quietly. "Don't you ever wish you could get a return on that payment? Something good and lovely in return for all the misery and pain we've seen?"

Winter blanched. Once again, this man's perception amazed her. "Yes," she admitted softly. "I do."

"**Winter!"** Wedge interrupted from across the field where he had been speaking on comms. **"I just got a call from NRHQ. We're pulling out."**

"**Tycho – you're flying the Moff's shuttle."**

"**What about my X-Wing?"** Tycho asked.

"**I can fly that Lambda,"** Winter offered. She knew how pilots got attached to their ships. It was the least she could do to repay Tycho for his help on this mission.

"**Nope," **rebuffed Wedge. "Sorry, Winter, but **Tycho's got space reflexes you don't. **That Imperial Star Destroyer is still out there and Leia would flay me alive if I let something happen to you."

"**You want me to fly it by myself?" **Tycho protested. **"Chief, that thing's a truck! **It's designed for a crew of six. It's hard enough to fly with only two!"

"**I need to get back to Central. Need a co-pilot?"** The words were out of Winter's mouth before she could stop them. The urge to finagle more time with this man from Alderaan overpowered her.

"**I'd be honored."** Tycho answered quickly. "Okay by you, Chief?"

Wedge nodded his approval. "Just check in at HQ as soon as you get back."

Wedge headed off to supervise the remaining transports and left the two Rebel conspirators standing awkwardly. Hesitantly, Winter reached out to touch Tycho's arm. "**Well, let's get your friend out of sick bay and leave this garden spot."**

Tycho smiled warmly. **"Fine with me!"**

--ooOoo--


	4. In the Lambda Shuttle

--ooOoo--

The Lambda shuttle had been modified by the Moff, following the example set by the Emperor himself. Most of the seats in the troop compartment had been removed and replaced with couches. Wes rested on the port side couch with a medical droid keeping watch over him. A desk had been placed just behind the bulkhead for the Moff to work. The cockpit still had the six crew stations but the two auxiliary stations were supplemented with double laser controls and cloaking technology. A Moff's shuttle was a valuable capture for the Alliance.

The Lambda shuttle lifted on its repulsor engines and lowered its wings as it turned and leisurely headed up out of the atmosphere. Tycho was in no hurry. He had the best co-pilot a man could want and he was going to enjoy every minute of it.

Winter sat beside Tycho in the cockpit of the recently liberated Imperial shuttle. She ran through the launch protocols, working in tandem with Tycho as he guided the shuttle on a trajectory through the atmosphere. Despite his earlier protestations, he flew the shuttle with a velvety-smooth touch. The gentle angle he chose meant a smoother ride, but it also took more time.

Their conversation remained all business as they plotted a course through the solar system and away from the gravity well of Cilpar's star. Winter noticed that Tycho instructed the navicomp to give several gravitic objects a wide berth, resulting in an extended flight time back to NRHQ. She called him on it silently by pointing at the read-out and quirking an eyebrow at him.

"What?" he asked innocently. "Better safe than sorry. We wouldn't want Princess Leia to flay Wedge now, would we?"

Winter smiled to herself. A thrill ran up her spine as they made the jump to hyperspace. She recognized the yearning now for what it was. She was attracted to this man. She could admit that now. He represented an opportunity to regain some of what she had lost when Moff Tarkin blasted Alderaan from space. She desperately wanted that back. She could admit that now, too.

But it would hardly be fair. She was totally committed to the cause and had no time for a relationship. She'd never been one to have flings like so many others in the royal court. It wasn't just that she had been very young when she started working for the rebellion. Leia and she both had been no more than 16 when they started covert intelligence gathering missions. Leia had moved to more diplomatic channels but Winter had continued her supply and logistics work. But she was also a valuable agent for the New Republic. She didn't want anything to interfere with or compromise her effectiveness. Still…

Tycho glanced sideways at Winter and noticed the wistful look on her face. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking about home," she answered, semi-honestly. "I haven't had the chance to meet with too many Alderaanians. Been busy trying to defeat the Empire."

Now that they were in hyperspace, Tycho could put the shuttle on autopilot and let the navicomp do the work. He pivoted in his chair and reached out to cover Winter's hand with his. "You know what I miss most? I mean, besides my family."

Winter closed her eyes and smiled at the familiar "…what I miss most" game. She had played this with Leia many times herself.

"The grasslands in late summer when all the wildflowers are blooming? The crystal falls under Crevasse City? The Killik mounds of Oroboro?"

"Those are beautiful, to be sure." Tycho agreed. "But what I miss most is a good nerf steak with calderan spice. No one makes a nerf steak like they do in Aldera."

Winter actually giggled. "Food? You miss food the most? Typical flyboy!"

Tycho cheerfully agreed. "Yup! I am. But at least I made you laugh. You should do that more often." He reached out and tweaked her chin. "You have a beautiful laugh."

"I wish I had more to laugh about," Winter replied earnestly. "Tycho- - "

"Hey!" interrupted Tycho. "It's alright. I understand the galaxy is pretty messed up right now. People like us don't get much of a chance to relax and enjoy ourselves. There's always another crisis to solve, another despot to topple. I'm just saying…"

He leaned over toward her and winked. "You look gorgeous in that dress."

Winter blinked. He was right about relaxing. She spent all her time moving from crisis to crisis. She couldn't remember that last time she had let her hair down. _Oh! My hair!_

Winter suddenly remembered she still had her Princess Leia disguise in place. "Think you can handle this truck alone for a few minutes, flyboy? I need to hit the 'fresher."

Winter made her way to the back of the shuttle, stopping to check on a sleeping Wes. The cargo holds were next, looking for any change of clothes. Unfortunately, she found only battle armor and the Moff's dinner jacket.

She threw the jacket over her bare shoulders and continued to the luxurious refresher in the rear of the shuttle. As expected, it was fully stocked with vanity products. Selecting the appropriate chemicals, she mixed up a neutralizer for the brown hair dye. It was important that Tycho saw Winter when he looked at her, not Leia.

A half hour later her crystal white hair was restored and hung straight down to her waist in her preferred style. Her eyes were her natural green again, contrasting strikingly with her hair. As she returned to the cockpit, an unexpected nervousness pressed upon her.

"What took you so…" Tycho's eyes widened when he saw Winter enter. "Oh! Wow!"

Winter blushed self-consciously. She was all Winter now. No more mask, no more disguise. "The real me," she explained.

Tycho shot up from his seat and crossed the intervening space between them in two steps. He stopped before her, bowing formally with all the dignity of a seasoned diplomat and the grace of the wiry athlete that he was. "My lady."

Winter offered her hands, which he took and pressed to his lips in a courtly gesture. "I want to thank you, Dame Winter," he started. "I couldn't talk about Alderaan before now. There was nothing but pain and loss there. But now – when I think of Alderaan, I will see your beautiful face and be reminded that we all hold the beauty of Alderaan inside of us."

Tycho reached out and cupped her face in his hand. Winter felt her stomach flutter as her skin danced with sensation where he touched her. The air around them was suddenly charged with an exquisite tension as the vastness of space collapsed until only this ship, only this cockpit, only this moment existed. The yearning she had been feeling for days now beat at her, demanding to be released.

"Tycho –" Winter began hesitantly, only to have Tycho hush her with a finger over her lips.

"Shhh," he said softly. "It's ok. I understand. You're royal. I respect that."

Winter's brow furled in a flash of anger. "No, I don't think you do understand! As far as I'm concerned, the peerage died with Alderaan."

Her anger faded into a heart-wrenching tenderness at the confused look on Tycho's face. She grabbed his hands and held them tight, unwilling to let go despite her words. "I'm not just a common Order recipient or Lady in Waiting at Court. I'm a soldier, a knight! The title reflects my life; it embodies who I am."

"You are familiar I'm sure with the peerage knighthoods. While Dame most commonly is a title given to minor gentry or as an award in recognition of some accomplishment, in my case it reflects my commitment to a credo, a way of life. I have bound myself to the protection and defense of Princess Leia Organa and all she holds dear, most especially the precepts of freedom and honor."

"The royal court died with Alderaan but that oath I made, that commitment will never die. It is who I am. My first duty will always be to the mission. There is still so much to do to bring hope and justice back, I can't afford any distractions!"

"Besides," she added imploringly. "I have no idea where I'll be tomorrow or whether I'll even be alive! I can't…"

"You forget!" Tycho interrupted with a hoarse voice, his tone taking on a grim authority. "I'm a fighter pilot in Rogue Squadron. We're not exactly known for longevity! I understand duty. I understand sacrifice. I am probably one of the few people in this galaxy who truly does understand what you are saying!" He moved in close and framed her face in both hands, his eyes laserbeams of intensity. "But you don't have to let that stop you from living. Even if it's only for today."

Tycho brushed her hair back from her face and entwined his fingers in the crystal-colored silkiness. "Don't you see… freedom is worth fighting for only because freedom allows us to _live_. If we don't live our lives, what's the point? Evil will have truly won." His voice dropped to almost a whisper and his thumb traced her jaw, leaving a trail of delicious sensation that sent chills down Winter's spine. Echoing her earlier words in the courtyard, he said, "It's why I do what I do."

Winter grasped Tycho's hands and held them tightly against her face. His hands were leathery, masculine. Sinewy and powerful, they were the hands that could destroy a Death Star yet were sensitive enough to guide a ship through delicate and intricate maneuvers. They smelled faintly of the leather gloves of his flight suit overlaid with the hyperionized smell common to every cockpit.

Burying her face in his hand, Winter placed a trembling kiss on his palm. She held his hand there for a heart-pounding moment, her mind a turmoil of indecision, her heart vying with her head.

Then she sighed and pulled back just far enough to face him. She bit her lip slightly as she hesitantly traced the lines of his face first with her eyes, then more boldly, with her fingertips. "I haven't thanked you yet. For my rescue."

Tycho's eyes softened as she caressed his brow, cheeks, jaw. One glance was all she needed to commit the lines to her perfect memory, but she craved the feel, the touch of him. "Your timing was perfect, you know. You literally saved me from the clutches of that beast."

That revelation made Tycho's face darken and his brow crease in anger. He opened his mouth to say something harsh, but Winter hushed him with her fingertips on his lips and quickly continued. "I only tell you that so you understand _me_. My job, my life, is dangerous in more ways than one. I can make no promises, offer no assurances. Events can spiral quickly out of my control."

She was drawing her thumb softly across his lips now and rubbing the prickly softness of cheeks nearly in need of a shave, marveling at the fervor of her own emotions that she normally controlled so well. "I believe you do understand this and it seems I also owe you thanks for a second rescue. "

She dropped her eyes now, hiding her inability to bear the raw intensity of the moment in a sudden interest in the curve of his strong shoulders, the width of his chest.

"I was in danger of losing more than just my physical freedom – and I didn't even know it. You have shown me what I was missing."

Winter intertwined both of her hands with his and raised them to her lips. Closing her eyes, she kissed his knuckles delicately before finding her strength again and seeking out those soulful eyes she was becoming so fond of.

"You are right. If I cannot choose for myself when I have the option, if I cannot seize the opportunity for something beautiful and precious when it is offered, what's the point?" She paused as her hands dropped to her side and she leaned back, giving Tycho some space for her next comment. Giving him an out if he wanted it.

"Even if it's only for today." she stressed the _'_today' as she echoed his words huskily, making it a question and a declaration at the same time.

Slowly, Tycho nodded with understanding. His eyes smoldered as they dropped to her faintly trembling lips. With heart-wrenching tenderness he framed her face with his hands before leaning in and placing a feather light kiss on her lips.

That was all she needed. Tycho inhaled sharply as Winter unexpectedly captured his forefinger in her mouth.

His ice blue eyes blazed instantly with heat as Winter wrapped her tongue around the digit and sucked in a sensual motion, full of suggestion and promise. He left it there for several moments, immersing himself in the intimate warmth of her mouth before removing it, and with great deliberation, inserting it in his own mouth with a lick.

Winter let out a little moan as she watched Tycho's gesture. The erotic nature of it turned the juvenile flip-flops into a decidedly adult passion that begged for more. With a small cry of desire, Winter surrendered to the intoxicating yearning she had been feeling since she first met this pilot from Rogue Squadron.

Their mouths met in a kiss fierce with longing. Tycho wrapped his hands around Winter's waist as their tongues thrust and parried, exploring each other with abandon. Winter's arms wound around his neck, her fingers buried in his hair. She pressed the full length of her body against his as Tycho pinned her against the bulkhead.

Then his hand went lower, cupping the swell of her bottom, squeezing her, lifting her, pressing her tighter into his own hardness. A low groan rumbled in his throat when she responded by wrapping her free leg around his thighs, encouraging him. A feminine gasp escaped her when he moved to nuzzle her neck, sending a pulse of heat straight to her core. She squeezed him tighter and murmured his name in his ear.

The enthusiastic sounds of two humans desperate for the taste of each other drowned out the beeps, clicks and whine of the Lambda class shuttle cockpit as the passion that had been building since they first met in the cave burst with an intensity rivaling the shuttle's twin ion engines. The pair exploded with the need to touch each other.

Winter tore at the clasps on Tycho's flight vest and it fell to the ground with a dull clunk. Grasping at the jacket of the black Imperial TIE pilot uniform he was still wearing, she popped the fasteners and pushed it backwards off his shoulders. A thin white tankshirt lay underneath, frustrating her efforts to reach skin.

"Force, I've always hated this uniform!" Winter impatiently untucked the shirt from Tycho's pants and started to help him remove it entirely.

Suddenly, Tycho grabbed her wrists and held them tightly, preventing her from removing the shirt. Their frenzied activity came to a stand still as Winter looked at him in surprise.

Slowly, Tycho stepped back and released her wrists. He raked her body with an undisguised look of searing desire, then reached down and pulled his shirt off over his head in one smooth motion. Winter smiled breathlessly as he gestured for her to do the same.

Winter had still been wearing the gorgeous evening gown given to her by the Governor. The strapless shoulders and plunging back had accentuated her creamy smooth skin and toned muscles, but now Tycho wanted it gone.

With a seductively easy grace, Winter stepped back and slowly pulled the zipper down to her buttocks. She released the top and let the dress fall around her ankles, leaving her fully exposed to Tycho's watching and appreciative eyes.

Tycho stayed where he was, taking time to enjoy the breathtaking vision before him. Winter's nude form was bathed in the million streaks of light of the hyperspace field behind her and crowned in silver as her waist-long hair seemed to float around her. Her complete lack of self-consciousness proved to be a potent aphrodisiac.

The muscles in Tycho's jaw twitched as Winter took two sensual steps toward him. Holding Tycho's eyes with her own, Winter stopped about a foot in front of him and paused. "You are incomparable, my lady!" Tycho avowed roughly, his voice ragged with passionate adoration.

Slowly and deliberately, Winter caressed Tycho's chest and stomach, memorizing the feel of tight abs, masculine pecs and fine, golden hair covering his chest in a perfect "T". Liesurely, achingly, she followed the masculine hair line with her hands down his abdomen to where his pants were firmly clasped around his waist. With heavily lidded eyes, her breath struggling to escape the tightness in her chest and throat, Winter undid Tycho's belt and opened the fasteners on his pants.

Tycho's breath hitched and his eyes widened in anticipation as she brought her hand up to her mouth and gave it a suggestive lick before reaching inside and grasping him firmly. Tycho claimed her mouth with his and matched her hand movements with his tongue.

"Careful," Tycho finally cautioned through a clenched jaw as he motioned for her to withdraw. "I want time to please you." He caressed her exposed breasts, teasing the sensitive tips to hardness, sending waves of exquisite torture through Winter's body.

"Mmm," she moaned. "I want you. Now."

Quickly discarding his remaining clothing, Winter moved Tycho slightly to the left, and then pushed on his shoulders, causing him to fall backwards into the chair immediately behind him.

Tycho reclined the chair back as far as it would go while Winter lifted the arms of the chair out of the way. Then, with a sultry, languorous motion, she straddled him fully on the chair.

They rocked in rhythm on the chair while Tycho worshipped her perfect bosom and Winter arched into the motions. Every movement, every caress, every lick, nibble and thrust brought them closer to the sublime sensations that finally burst on them both, their worlds shattering in a million streaks of light that rivaled the hyperspace starfield outside the cockpit window.

--ooOoo--


	5. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

Wedge glanced up from the maintenance reports he was reviewing to see Tycho shuffle into the former storage bay that now served as Rogue Squadron's ready room.

It was about time he reported in. Wedge was ready to make an admonishing comment when he noticed the dazed look in Tycho's eyes and the slump of his shoulders. His irritation turned to concern as he watched Tycho lean heavily against the caf dispenser while waiting for his usual double strength brew.

Sighing deeply, Tycho took his filled cup and wandered listlessly to an unoccupied chair. Plourr, Dllr, and Hobbie were playing a game of cards at a nearby table but he didn't even glance their way. He sat still, staring unseeing at his hands.

Wedge watched the blond man for several moments before moving to sit next to him. "Report, Lieutenant," he ordered crisply.

Tycho looked up, surprised. "Wha--? Oh, sorry, Chief. Celchu reporting in for duty as ordered. Mission complete. Vessel is secure."

"No problems? Is Janson ok?" Wedge tried to understand Tycho's demeanor.

"Oh, yes. Janson is being taken care of by the med droid, though I'm told he could still use a good med facility to speed up the healing."

"No worries on that. I just got word that our next mission will take us to the Mrlsst spaceport. I hear they have some of the best healers in the galaxy."

"Good, good. That's good." Tycho nodded distractedly. When he said nothing further and returned to staring at his hands, Wedge persisted. "What about your co-pilot? Did Winter arrive safely?"

That brought Tycho's head up with a jerk, his eyes shining with something... hopeful. "That's right!" he inexplicably exclaimed. "You know her, Chief, don't you? You can tell me."

Now Wedge was thoroughly confused. "Slow down, Celchu. You're not making any sense. Is Winter ok?"

"Yes, yes, she's fine. More than fine. She's great. She's wonderful! She's absolutely amazing!"

Wedge stared at the enraptured look on his Lieutenant's face for a heartbeat before bursting out laughing. His hearty guffaws drew the attention of the other Rogues, who looked up from their card game with interest.

"So that's it!" he exclaimed with a knowing smile. "Yes, Winter is a friend but I'm afraid I can't help you. Her work is top secret and I never know when I will see her."

"But surely you know how to get a message to her," Tycho implored. The look on his face turned miserable. "I turned around and she was just… gone. Not even a goodbye."

Wedge shook his head, taking pity on his squadron mate. "Tycho, I would think you would know better than to get involved with Intelligence types. You know I couldn't tell you even if I knew - which I don't! - but if I did, it would be unwise of me to tell you."

His tone turned serious. "Winter is a woman of formidable skill, Tycho. If she refused to give you her personal comlink channel, there was a reason."

"But that's just it," Tycho moaned, his head in his hands now, his posture that of total defeat. "I forgot to ask for it!"

Outside the Rogue Squadron ready room, techs looked up at the sound of loud laughter spilling through the door.

--ooOoo--

Winter stood up from the large conference table and stretched her stiff legs. Her de-briefs were always extremely thorough because of her holographic memory, but this one had been extensive due to the pivotal role she had played in the Cilpar affair. This time she had been their sole source of information and they needed to record every detail.

Enjoyment wasn't the right word, but she had to admit she had gotten a sense of… satisfaction out of the successful outcome. It made what she was about to do easier.

"One last thing, Colonel," Winter spoke to the female Mon Calamari that sat across the table from her who had been her supervising officer in the Supply and Logistics Division of the New Republic for the last six months. "I'm requesting a transfer."

The Mon Calamari's eyes rotated towards Winter. "Oh?" she asked equanimously

"I have learned much under your command. I appreciate the opportunity to serve as an agent in the Supply and Logistics Division, but I believe I could be most useful to the Alliance serving in the Operational Division of Intelligence. I've been thinking about it for awhile, but my experience on Cilpar proved to me that I can successfully carry out the agent's role."

Winter pulled a datapad from her pocket and pushed it across the table to the Colonel. "I have filled out all the paperwork and have received several recommendations. I just need your approval."

Winter waited patiently for the Colonel's answer. She knew it was just a formality since one of the recommendations she had spoken of had come from Princess Leia herself, but she also thought it important to respect the chain of command.

"As a matter of fact," came the answer, "I spoke with General Cracken himself this morning. He said he would consider it a personal favor if I approved the transfer."

"He didn't have to do that. I would always do what is best for the New Republic." She leaned forward and marked the transfer request approved with her personal codes. "But I appreciate the fact that the General now owes me a favor!" She made the peculiar squishing sound that was a Mon Calamari's laugh.

Winter smiled with her and expressed her thanks. As she turned to go, the Colonel stopped her with a word. "Oh, one more thing. The General asked that you change your appearance before reporting for duty. It seems long Alderaanian hair is just too distinctive, let alone rare crystal white long Alderaanian hair."

Winter nodded. She had expected as much. She was, in fact, looking forward to it. It was just the symbolism she needed to remind her of her total commitment to her mission. Cutting her hair would cut her attachment to frivolous appearances and distracting relationships.

She had memories she would always cherish, but 'today' was now yesterday and she had a new mission. That was all that mattered.


End file.
